


Truly, madly, deeply

by Iris_Celeno



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Christa never wants breakfast, F/M, Missing Scenes, Neal has it baaad, Relationship in retrospect, The big freaking huge L, They can't keep their hands off each other, They have fun and other things, Warning: High sugar levels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Celeno/pseuds/Iris_Celeno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Wasn't it crazy, at his age, to find out he had been a closet hopeless romantic for his whole life?</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The musings of a truly, madly, deeply in love British doctor, how he found himself in this happy predicament, and in bed with the object of his affection.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I knew I loved you

**Author's Note:**

> A little contribution to the noble cause of increasing the number of Neal/Christa fanfictions.  
> Neal's POV on falling in love with Christa, including their first kiss. Headcanon, set after 1x13. This chapter is G-rated, the second chapter will be T or M.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistake you might find.

The blue sky was for once free of fog, but the view on the city from the tenth floor rooftop of Angels Memorial wasn't inspiring nor beautiful. It was dull, all concrete buildings and spots of yellow dry grass here and there. It actually was way better at night, coming alive in a myriad of twinkling lights in the dark. But Neal didn't mind it right now, nor did he care about the faint odor of gasoline coming from the huge parking lot, the smell of fries from the cafeteria below, or the buzz of the air conditioning units and electric transformers. It left the small, cramped place mostly deserted, reason why it was his spot of choice whenever he needed a break from his colleagues and the general craziness of the ER. 

He streched lazily before he settled against the fence, his forearms resting on it. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the sun hitting his face. As the tension of another crazy shift exited him, his mind wandered to the only words his father ever said to him in confidence, a very long time ago, when they were still close and drinking the night away after the big party for the 20th anniversary of his parents. 

_When your mother put the little racist prick in his place with two words, a world of class and that touch of wickedness she has about her, I fell for her. It made me understand that I had never truly loved before I met her. Two weeks later, having realized that I would never love any other, I asked her to marry me. ___

As for his mother, she seemed to take for granted that he'd follow their pattern. _You'll know the right one, Neal,_ she invariably said whenever their conversation rolled on his private life, as if all the Hudsons had been delivered at birth with a love-of-your-life detector. Of course, he was too rational and sensible to believe it. Somewhere deep inside, he had wondered, yes. Still, he was very aware that a marriage like the one his parents had was a rarity and had spent his life repressing any idealistic notion in the romance department, for fear of waiting in vain... 

Only to realize, today, that he had utterly failed. 

He had had a fair number of relationships and aside from the deplorable toxic one that had lasted longer than it should have in his mid-twenties, he had dated women whom, beyond a mutual attraction, he liked and respected. Whoever initiated the split, it was always amicable and he stayed on friendly terms with all his serious ex-girlfriends, bar one of course. He still e-mailed Grace and Natalie from time to time, Lucy had invited him to her wedding two years before and he was godfather to his highschool sweetheart Valerie's last born. The reasons behind the separation were always dispassionate, a variation on the theme of routine, first they were too young, then they weren't ready, his job was too demanding, her job was too demanding, their jobs were too demanding, mostly. Come to think of it, it was rather funny. He used to argue with his exes during the so-called honeymoon phase, whereas his separations were infinitely civil and free of drama. 

He didn't regret any of those relationships, not even the toxic one. His closest friends kept on warning him that he thought too much and could miss good things. So, knowing that his head couldn't prevent him from falling for someone, even the wrong person, was a positive.  
He didn't _regret_ any of those relationships, either. Everytime, passion was there in the beginning but in hindsight, everytime, there was something missing. Something that left him at worst disappointed, at best relieved rather than heartbroken when it was over. Something that finally, the events of the last hours had allowed him to identify. He had never felt for any of these women what his parents felt for each other, was all. 

Wasn't it crazy, at his age, to find out he had been a closet hopeless romantic for his whole life? 

He saw it clearly, now. Now that “it” had happened to him. 

He had tried to dismiss it, he had tried to downplay it. He had tried to pretend it was merely deep fondness and physical attraction, and he had almost believed it. But deep down, he had been perfectly aware of what it was...since, like his father, he could recall vividly the very moment when he fell in love. Truly, madly, deeply, as they said. He could still feel the physical shock it gave him, so different from anything he had ever experienced before. 

He could still picture Christa's ruffled blond hair, her baby blue eyes widened in surprise and shock after the patient tore off her mask, could still remind his own panic at the idea that she of all people could be contaminated by that lethal God-knew-what.  
And how did she react? She calmly shrugged the incident off and even made a little joke in order to reassure him. 

He remembered being unable to tear his gaze off of her. He had been dumbstruck, quite literally. His mind had blanked but for the thought that she was beautiful and brave and selfless and smart and _wonderful_. 

He had been in a daze, forgetting the time and place for a good five seconds, no small feat during a code black and with his mother in grave danger. It wasn't sensible at all, no, it was pure insanity. So, once out of his trance, the urgency of the situation had allowed him to blend the moment in the highly tense, highly emotional blur of that crazy day. 

But under the pretense, the feeling had stayed. Lurking, growing, strengthening. 

It was there, disguised as gratitude, when she managed to soothe his father's anguish and care for Lawrence's broken heart at the same time -that was Christa for you. It was there, irking, when he was overly harsh with Mario after he thought the young resident was flirting with her. It was there, hidden behind easy banter, when they shared breakfast and Bloody Marys. It was there, stinging, when she didn't betray the solidarity between residents for him. It was there, a burning coal at the pit of his stomach, whenever he worried about her being hurt or nowhere to be found. It was there, sweet heat warming his chest, whenever he worked with her, talked with her, joked with her. 

There was something between them, there was no denying it and he never even tried. They had a connection, they worked so well together, like a well-oiled machine, and had from the get-go. He knew that she liked him because she called him her friend. He knew that she trusted him because she confided in him. And he knew the attraction was mutual because, when he searched for her gaze, he always found her seeking his. 

Only, until today, he had avoided dwelling on the true nature of this “something”. 

They were working together, and he had a policy. He didn't sleep with residents, didn't have affairs with residents, didn't have relationships with residents, he left those to the likes of Campbell. He was Christa's superior, although technically not her boss, which had already created conflicts between them. Needless to say, he hated to be the subjet of gossip, and rumors as well as administrative meddling could have a negative impact on her career.  
She had loved someone enough to marry him and have his child, whereas he had never gotten there. She had lost that child, going through an amount of grief he hoped he'd never be able to understand, but might create too big of a gap between them.  
She had been destroyed and although she had reinvented herself, it couldn't but have left her heart tender and brittle under her layers of strength. She'd be so easy to hurt, so easy to damage again, so prone to close off, too, for being too used to dealing with pain on her own. And he was well aware that he wasn't the most skilled at dealing with his own emotions, less at expressing them.  
There were so many reasons why a relationship, this relationship, could turn into a disaster. 

Yet none of those reasons mattered anymore, reduced to flimsy pretexts by dozens of more important others 

How long hours of working with her were a treat instead of a trial. How working long hours under tremendous pressure with her was a blessing, since he felt more confident when she was by his side. How he could count on her to have the right idea at the right moment, especially when he was at his wits' end.  
How he could count on her to understand his reasoning. How they could finish each other's sentences, or speak at the same time. Or how they could not speak and feel close all the same.  
How she wasn't afraid to speak her mind or disagree with him, but without childish spite or arrogance.  
How he admired her brilliant mind, her backbone, her perseverance, the way she fought off her fears. How he admired even more the way she behaved with her patients, never afraid to care, never afraid to get involved, never afraid to get hurt.  
How he couldn't stand to see her in pain, how he wished he could spare her any kind of sorrow. How his guts twisted when he feared for her.  
How elated he was when something he said made her smile really spread to her eyes. How impatient he felt before every shift at the mere idea that he would be seeing her, and how actually seeing her was always even better.  
How he had to compel himself not to stare at her and get lost in her eyes all the time. How he did his best to limit physical contact, even as innocuous as a pat on the shoulder, because the mere touch of her burned his skin and if he put his hands on her once, he wasn't sure he could ever stop. 

He had done his best, really. But today had been a different story. Taking advantage of a highly emotional moment, the feeling had sneaked in, overwhelmed him, and finally taken over him. 

When he found her in that supply room, he had walked to her like a moth to a flame. Had tried to offer words, sound arguments, rational explanations, while maintaining some physical distance between them. Had tried to soothe her distress as a mentor, and not as a man. But it wasn't enough for her, and it wasn't enough for him either. Her emotions seemed to flow directly into him, fueling his need to be close to her until it just hurt not to be.  
So he had stepped fully into her personal space, something he usually avoided unless they were working on a patient, and he had been bloody right to be wary of it since as soon as he did, he wasn't able to resist anymore. It was as if invisible ropes were drawing him to her.  
He had crossed the line then, rested his hands on her hips, pressed his forehead to hers; the next thing he knew their eyes were meeting, their breaths were mingling and then his lips were on hers and finally, finally, he knew how she tasted.  
He had kissed her with unmatched intensity, as if each contact was their first and their last, as if he could tell her without words everything he had been feeling about her for months now. But his touch was tentative at once because he wanted, he needed to savor every second of this, of her. He felt as if he had been waiting to kiss her for years. It was too good, too important, too precious to be rushed.  
When they parted, she had looked deep into his eyes. Hers were an emotional storm that slowly cleared, replaced by the stunned realization of her feelings for him; it was the most beautiful, humbling thing he had ever seen. Then, she had whispered his name, a bit dazzled, her voice still husky from her previous outburst and their kisses; it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. 

And at that very moment, somehow, he had known he'd never love any other. 

The metallic door leading to the rooftop squeaked just behind him, calling him back to the present time, and Neal opened his eyes. 


	2. I want you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following chapter 1, the missing scenes until 1x14. How our very in love British doctor ended up in bed with the object of his affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting a bit heated along the way, but it stops just at the beginning of the flashback so rated M just to be safe.   
> Nothing is better than the real thing, but I hope it can make up a tiny little bit for the current lack of Neal/Christa interaction.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistake you might find

_The metallic door leading to the rooftop squeaked behind him, calling him back to the present time, and Neal opened his eyes._

He turned around in a slow move. He wasn't the least surprised to find Christa standing in the doorway, yet his heartbeat accelerated quite helplessly all the same. 

During their breakfast at Hector's, around their third or fourth Bloody Mary, he had mentioned this terrace to her after she confided in him that sometimes, she'd like a little time away from the other residents and the general craziness of the ER. So it had become a spot where occasionally, they ended up together if they had a break during a code green. They never planned to meet, and he didn't go up there just in order to see her, but he was happy that she actually used the place and always hoped she would show up, especially when she was shadowing Leanne or Rollie. He missed working with her, then. He missed talking to her. Looking at her. 

Today was, yet again, another story. It was a given they'd meet here after work. Their kiss happened so unexpectedly and everything went so fast that somehow, he needed a moment with her before leaving the hospital. He needed to confirm where they stood before they truly entered the private sphere of their lives, a kind of transition, and he was quite sure she did, too.

Earlier, they didn't have one minute to talk. He had had to let go of her, no matter how much he didn't want to. They were in a supply room at Angels Memorial, their shift wasn't over, she was still reeling from grief and it was neither the time nor place. He had walked backwards to the door, unable once more to tear his eyes off of her, at least until he opened the panel and the sounds of the world outside broke their bubble.   
When time to go home finally arrived and he was on his way to the locker room, Perello had stalled him. She wanted to apologize and justify her decision once more. Christa had passed them by without a look at the director a couple of seconds later. Although he did listen to Gina, Neal had been quite curt with her. His good education only had allowed him to stay polite and offer her that everyone made mistakes, instead of telling her with chosen words what he thought of her insinuations about his judgement. He could hardly deny that he was attracted to Christa. But he respected her skills and trusted her instincts, too, and he knew where he stood with his medical decisions.  
The woman he really wanted to see wasn't in there anymore when he finally got to the lockers. Maybe he should have been thankful for it, since his self-control tended to be tested around her. He had been slightly surprised and disappointed, though, when he didn't find her already waiting for him at their spot. He had been thinking that Gina might have stalled her, too.

Nevertheless, he nixed this idea as she let the door close behind her on another squeak and walked towards him. He knew Christa, she'd be upset all over again if she had to rehash the day's tragedy, and obviously she wasn't. He detected no trace of sadness in her stance, either. So more probably she had needed a little moment alone, including away from him, to lock grief and anger and guilt somewhere in a corner of her mind.

She was slim and graceful in her simple jeans and white top, her blond hair was down and shining like a halo in the sunlight. Needless to say that it did nothing good to his racing pulse. Her eyes were bright and bluer than ever, hiding nothing, letting him see that she was glad he was here and a little excited, a little nervous, too. His stomach made a flip at her tentative, oh-so-kissable smile and her adorable glance, the one she gave him whenever she silently asked if everything was all right.

He was far, far gone indeed, he thought sheepishly. Way beyond the deep end.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she asked, her voice gentle. She settled next to him with her back against the fence, the left side of her body brushing the right side of his. 

He went for the naked truth. He was the first surprised at how easily the words came to him.

“I'm crazy about you,” he said simply.

It was absolute delight to watch her eyes widen, her lips form a surprised “oh” and then curve up in a radiant smile. It was sheer pleasure to see her close the distance between them and wrap her arms around his neck, the contact of her fresh skin on his nape sending a tingle all the way down his spine. It was pure thrill to lock his arms about her slender waist and hold her tight against him, something he had wanted to do more than a hundred times in the last weeks.

“I seem to suffer from the same affection, doctor Hudson,” she mused as she let her hands thread softly in the thick black hair at his temples, her tone mildly light, but her eyes so very serious. 

They stayed like this for a couple of minutes, just looking at each other. Now, it was real. They were real. The feelings they had just admitted or discovered ran free, creating a unique combination that would be “them”, him and her together. Love, desire, closeness, heat...all those, Neal had expected to feel, but there was something more. A sense of joy, of near giddiness sparked deep inside, grew and filled him as he gazed at her lovely face, until it overwhelmed him. He was so incredibly happy. She made everything seem so bright, so easy, so simple to him right now.

And nothing was simpler than tilting his head down and giving her a soft, quick, almost chaste kiss. It made her eyelids fall, made her sigh and then smile against his mouth. She was still smiling when she grabbed his shoulders, stood on her tiptoes and just like he had done, brushed her lips to his...and nothing more. So he did it again, and she did it again, and he did it again, and this time after he parted, he was smirking and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you ever going to kiss me properly?” she dared him, laughter in her voice.

“Are _you_?” he retorted. 

She raised a brow. Challenge accepted. Sinking her hands in his hair, she resolutely pressed her lithe body and her mouth to his. Her lips were warm and velvety; her little tongue was bold as it darted between them, demanding immediate access, got even bolder when he gave it on a muffled groan, and before he knew it he had lifted her in his arms, molding her to him, and they were kissing furiously. He was ravaging her mouth, her hands were roaming on his shoulders and back and...

A metallic squeak had them bolt apart. Thankfully, the door stayed close. The squeak resounded again, and they realized it came from the loose panel of an air conditioning unit, moving in a gust of morning wind. 

They sighed, then laughed nervously in relief. He shook his head, while she rested her forehead against his shoulder. 

“Maybe it isn't the place for a proper kiss,” she remarked coyly.

“I don't mean to sound contrary, but...it, this, was anything but proper.”

_Incendiary_ was more like it. He had imagined a kiss like their first one, soulful but restrained, or he wouldn't have started anything here. He realized he had been wrong on one thing. She didn't test his self-control, it simply vanished into thin air around her. Even worse or even better, he didn't know, he wasn't the least sorry for it.

“Is that so?” 

She sounded very proud of herself, she was the one challenging him now, and it took all of the sense he had in him for not taking her up on it, everything else be damned.

“Maybe we should take this someplace else,” he proposed instead.

“Maybe, yes,” she answered flippantly.

She wasn't looking at him, eyes focused on her fingers, which were running up and down his arms, grazing his skin through his shirt, tentatively, tantalizingly. He tried to stifle a shiver of pleasure. 

“Breakfast?”

“Been there, done that,” she shrugged, boring her sky blue gaze into his. 

Her tone was sultry, her eyes daring, her smile knowing, and it reached him like a hot punch to the guts. Her fingers were toying with the base of his skull and his nape now, the simple touch doing incredible things to him, sending jolts of electricity through every single one of his nerves. She was going to be the death of him, he thought, and he wasn't the least sorry for it either. 

“I'm off to bed, then. Wanna come?” he asked, entering her game with a twinkle in his eyes. 

She didn't miss a beat.

“Definitely,” she grinned back. 

They both knew they wouldn't be able to stop beaming, and anyway they didn't want to. They didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to keep their distance in front of people. No pretense anymore, not today.   
So, instead of the permanently crowded elevator, they used the service stairs to get to the parking lot, racing down the steps hand in hand, checking at each landing that no one was around to catch sight of them, like two kids sneaking out on a first date. They made it to his car slightly out of breath, yet he couldn't help but steal away what was left of it and gleefully kiss the smile off her face, tender and long and deep, while she buckled up on the passenger seat. She gave him a playful slap on the chest, _Not here_ , she giggled, only to lean in and kiss him in turn.

He didn't know how they made it to his condo without having an accident. While he was driving, the same thought began to play over and over in his mind. He was going to have her in his arms, in his bed, he was going to do everything he wanted to do to her, with her, in a matter of minutes. After he had repressed his attraction to her for so long, the knowledge and her presence so close to him, so terribly tempting, made for a deadly combination that had months of self-discipline crumble and fall to pieces. In the secluded space of the car, the atmosphere between them quickly shifted from light and flirtatious to heavy and electric. In the sudden, stifling silence, his earlier exhilaration turned into sheer anticipation, fueling his desire for her, making way even faster for sharp, urgent craving. Stubbornly, his eyes kept veering off to her face, needing their fill of her, and his right hand kept moving as stubbornly to rest on her nape, her arm, her thigh. Her body was warm and soft under his palm, he couldn't wait anymore, he just couldn't stop touching her.   
She didn't fare any better. Whenever he managed to hold back, she took over and extended her left arm to stroke his hair, his chest, his shoulder, thankfully never venturing anywhere close to his thigh or his groin. Otherwise, either he would lose control of the car, either they would have to risk an arrest for indecent exposure. They shared a rapid look, pupils wide, eyes dark with want now, aware that they had to get a grip. Finally, she entwined her fingers with his, on the wheel, and he made do with bringing her knuckles to his lips every now and then, shuddering when at the last red light, she reciprocated the gesture. 

He didn't know how they made it to his floor still clothed. In spite of releasing her hand only time for them to get out of his vehicle, he missed physical contact with her like mad during the mere seconds he was deprived of it. He half-stalked, half-ran with her in tow accross the lobby, yanked her to him and kissed her senseless as soon as they were inside of the elevator. They got lost on the way; first he hit the button to the wrong floor, then when they arrived at the right one, he had her trapped between him and the metal wall and was getting drunk on her, his mouth devouring every inch of delicious skin available between her jaw and her collarbone, while she was already tugging at his shirt and jeans in earnest. They barely registered the car stopping, let the doors open and close again on them without thinking of stepping out, but again neither of them was able to think anymore. He pressed his pelvis hard against her, eliciting a soft whimper from her, which resounded louder than it should have. It allowed him to remember in extremis where they were and he managed to hang on to a thread of sanity. Before anyone could call the elevator with them still inside, he dragged her in the corridor, staggering backward instead of walking because he didn't want to let go of her and she wouldn't let him anyway, he gripping her hips and guiding her while keeping her body as close to his as possible, she clutching at his shoulders with all her might, their lips meeting and clinging and merging.

He didn't know how he managed to open the door to his appartment, with her still in his arms, raining soft kisses along his jaw and neck, distracting him to such an extent that he fumbled with the key and even more with the lock a few seconds later, because her hands had sneaked under his shirt and were seeking purchase across the muscles of his back and chest, then grazing the sensitive skin of his stomach. _Wait_ , he murmured, gritting his teeth to bear the sweet ache her touch aroused, unfortunately to no avail. She just laughed joyously in answer, whispered something in his ear about surgeons who were supposed to have nimble fingers, nibbled at his earlobe and generally went on teasing him without mercy. His stupid struggle with the key and lock kept both his hands busy, and she took advantage of his helplessness to inflict on him what had to be called pure addictive torture, one of her dainty hands gliding under his clothes on his bare abdomen, the other touching him through his jeans, her mouth, her tongue, her teeth playing with the pulse point on his neck, driving him so completely out of his mind that he began to contemplate very seriously the idea of making love to her right here in the corridor if his bloody door refused to open within the next ten seconds.   
Finally the panel gave way and he stumbled inside, grinning like a fool, whirling her around in his arms. A last giddy thought crossed his mind before he shut down his brain, let himself be carried away and lose himself in her, in them. 

This beautiful, brave, selfless, smart, _wonderful_ woman was his now, and he would be caught dead before he ever let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And he'd better not.   
> Of course, I don't own the characters and I don't make money out of this.  
> I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading !

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for everything except for the notion that Christa is the one and only, great, first real love of Neal's life. This is (my head)canon and I will not hear otherwise.


End file.
